Bedtime Tales
by Suspicious Popsicle
Summary: Unrelated oneshots having to do with Yuri, Flynn, and beds they share.
1. Early Morning Sunlight

A/N: One of my favorites in terms of tone. I like how relaxing it came out.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Birdsong woke Flynn out of a deep sleep, and he groaned a little as he clutched the single pillow tighter. For once, he didn't want to get up. Yuri's bed was tiny and familiar, timeworn and cozy. He knew the lumps in the mattress, knew every creak and pop and groan of the frame, knew the scent of the pillow and the sheets, and he breathed in deeply, at peace. He was alone in the bed, but he knew Yuri was nearby, could feel his presence in the room. Some days, Yuri felt like the charge in the air before a coming storm. That morning, he felt like sunlight.

Yawning, Flynn stretched a little and let wakefulness come slowly, a rare indulgence given his usual hectic mornings. He was currently on vacation, though he had no plans to leave the city. For the moment, he didn't even want to leave the bed.

He heard Yuri stir, heard the rustle of cloth and a greeting called up from below. It was more than enough to pinpoint Yuri's location even without opening his eyes to look. The little window seat overlooking the fountain had been his friend's favorite perch for as long as Flynn could remember. Yuri seemed fascinated by people. He could sit in that window for hours, just watching…

…but he hadn't done that for some time. So much had happened over a handful of short years and many, many things had changed. Even if Yuri had still been caught in the despondency that had gripped him after leaving the Knights, there was far too much to be done to allow him to sit idle and watch the world pass by. Through some miracle, they had both managed to claim a few precious days for themselves. Soon, Flynn would have to return to his duties and Yuri would go back to Dahngrest and his guild work. For the time being, however, they had a chance to stop and rest, to catch up, and to watch quietly as the world carried on without them.

Sleep was not going to be returning anytime soon, and Flynn reluctantly rolled onto his back, throwing an arm up over his eyes. He was still a little drowsy and far too content in the serenity of the moment to want it to end. It would be nice if Yuri would come back to bed and give him a reason to settle in for a little longer.

The minutes crawled by, punctuated by greetings, shouts, and laughter, barks and bird calls, and all manner of noise from the streets below as the city woke up. It was comfortably warm in the room, and a light breeze carried in the scent of freshly baked bread from one of the shops in the marketplace.

Slowly, he came to realize that Yuri was being abnormally quiet. He must have noticed that Flynn was awake, but he hadn't said anything, wasn't teasing him for his idleness or prodding him to get moving. It was strange enough to rouse his curiosity, and he sat up, opening his eyes to the morning.

Just as he'd expected, Yuri was sitting in his usual place on the windowsill. He had wrapped the sheet from the bed around himself, one bare leg protruding from beneath, and a pale shoulder rising from the sagging folds of cloth. His hair was inky black, stark against the white, and it hung loose and just a little mussed, framing the profile of his face.

White suited Yuri. Although he was neither innocent nor pure in the traditional senses of the words, there was something about those qualities that nevertheless shone through in him. That morning, bathed in soft sunlight, the white sheet hanging loosely off his frame, Flynn could see him clearly for everything he was. He was proud and principled, strong and beautiful, and everything Flynn had ever wanted. Lazing alone in bed no longer seemed nearly so important.

Flynn got to his feet and padded silently to Yuri's side. Like Yuri, his clothing still littered the floor, and he didn't have a stitch on him as he approached the window. His modesty was preserved behind Yuri's body and the drape of the sheet. Flynn pressed close, savoring the warmth that passed between them, so different from that of the sun that beamed down on them, lending shine to Yuri's hair and a sparkle to his dark eyes.

Leaning in, Flynn kissed him, soft and lingering. He felt Yuri's fingers as a light tickle against his cheek. They broke apart only when someone in the street whistled at their careless display. As Yuri waved, Flynn grinned sheepishly and buried his face in the crook of Yuri's neck. He wrapped Yuri in his arms and sighed happily as he greeted the morning.


	2. Wrapped 'Round

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Flynn woke in the middle of the night, not sure at first what had pulled him out of his slumber. A breeze from his open window made him shiver, the cool autumn air slipping over his bare skin in place of the blanket that Yuri had stolen away. Tugging was useless at this point, as Yuri was wrapped up tight as he could be. The only part of him that was visible was the spill of his hair over the pillow.

Too cold to go back to sleep and too cozy to get up and close the window, he dug an arm beneath the oversized pillow Yuri had become and rolled them over, putting Yuri between himself and the source of the chill. He nuzzled in against the radiating heat, smiling against the covers at the complaining grunt from within.

"If you insist on hogging the blankets, I'm going to use you to keep warm," he murmured.

He assumed the sudden jerk from within the cocoon was Yuri attempting to elbow him in the ribs, but he was foiled by his own attempts to keep warm. He'd gotten himself well and truly trapped in the blanket. With a soft laugh, Flynn ran a hand over his shoulder and followed the curve of his arm down to his hand. He traced the shape of Yuri's hip and thigh, familiar with his body clothed or blanketed or bare, and quietly delighted with the reminder that no one else could claim such intimacy.

When a brief bout of wriggling and squirming didn't throw Flynn off or set him free, Yuri quieted down quickly. He relaxed against Flynn and his breathing slowed as he drifted off, completely unconcerned that he had rendered himself helpless. Normally the type to never sleep without a sword within reach, Flynn was both amused and a little touched that Yuri was comfortable enough to fall asleep that way.

He carded his fingers through Yuri's hair, snagging little tangles left over from their ardent reunion earlier that evening. The strands tickled over the back of his hand and caught around the bases of his fingers. He had always found it strange that Yuri kept his hair so long. It was just one more thing an enemy could get a hold of, one more thing that could get in the way during a fight. It took hours to dry and came out full of knots after fighting or lovemaking. Even still, he liked Yuri's hair, liked the way it framed his face and made him look mysterious or wild by turns. He liked it pulled up or tied back or fanned out across the pillows. He twisted some of it around his index finger, considering the silken ribbon spiraling over his skin as he let it unwind.

Slowly, he reached up and wrapped a lock around the base of his ring finger. It was perfect in its impermanence: a symbol of the bond between them that held strong no matter how often Yuri was absent from his side. There was something undeniable and unspoken between them, something that had never needed any of the traditional symbols of dedication, something that was reaffirmed whenever their paths crossed, but never disappeared with distance. He studied the band, watching the dull shine in the dim light as he moved his hand, thinking that Yuri would surely call him stupid over something so silly.

"Quit playing with my hair," Yuri muttered. "I'm trying to sleep. Got a long way to go tomorrow." He yawned and amended: "Today."

With a smile, Flynn kissed the ring of raven hair and let it slip free of his finger.


	3. Before the Final Battle

A/N: I guess I forgot to mention before that this was just supposed to be a place to toss one shots if I wrote any more connected to the theme, and wasn't _precisely_ going to be anything that updated regularly or continually.

Quiet little anon who requested that I continue, this one is for you. I hope you like it. If not, I have one or two more in mind I can add here.

FYI, I don't write _for_ comments, but sometimes I will write _because_ of comments. A small but important difference there.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

That first night was strange.

Yuri should have been bedded down with the others, out in their little campsite just beyond the walls of Aurnion. Instead, he was curled up on a lumpy mattress, trapped between a wall and the warmth of his best friend who wasn't precisely just his best friend anymore. He could hear every sigh of wind, every groan of timbers, every creak of the bed frame, every tiny rustle of the sheets. His pulse ticked in his temples, and he could hear it scratching, catching along with his hair at the pillowcase. He tucked a hand beneath his head to quiet the noise, and found it instead replaced by the amplified rumbling of blood through his veins and the tiny sounds created by the flex of his fingers. It was incredible how loud his own body could be in the stillness of the night.

Behind him, Flynn shifted. Weight settled against Yuri's back, the light touch of a shoulder just barely pressed against him. Warmth seeped through his shirt, and he held himself perfectly still, afraid of breaking off that small touch, and afraid of seeking more.

Once more, he wondered over what had prompted Flynn's confession earlier that evening. Easy enough to think that the odds Brave Vesperia would be facing when they confronted Duke were bad enough that Flynn had decided to take his chance while he still had one. Easy to think that way, but pretty depressing. Duke had to be stopped, no matter how strong he was. They couldn't afford to fail.

Still, even as important as that was, even though Yuri knew that he ought to be sleeping so he'd be in top shape for the coming fight, he couldn't relax. Flynn's words kept running through his mind. Flynn's presence battered at the edges of his awareness like moths around a lantern, little sensations that slipped in wherever they could.

The pillow smelled like Flynn. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been given the room for his personal use while in Aurnion, but he'd already left his mark on it. The slightest shift released the smell of sweat and the metallic tang of armor, the sharp odor of the cheap soap common among knights and the sweetish smell of horses and their feed. Long hours of hard, honest work. Dedication. Flynn probably fell into bed each night, exhausted. Yuri wondered if he felt whole, or if there was an emptiness inside him over some of the things he'd done and seen. He hoped not.

He couldn't hear Flynn breathing, and that was how he knew he was still awake. Flynn snored very lightly. He'd never believed it when Yuri told him. One of these days, he would take Flynn adventuring along with Brave Vesperia. Not riding around on orders, but honestly exploring. He could get a different perspective on the world he'd always brought Yuri tales about. It would do him good...and Yuri would finally have a witness who could tell Flynn that he really did snore.

Turning his face into the pillow, he smiled. Someday. After they came back from Tarqaron alive.

Flynn shifted again. The comforting weight of his shoulder fell away, though Yuri could almost still feel it if he strained. The spot on his back where it had rested felt colder than it should have, and he waited for Flynn to bring them into contact again. He must have felt it too.

When it became clear that Flynn wasn't going to move again, Yuri pushed toward him until he felt warmth trailing all down his back. Reaching behind himself, he found Flynn's hand trapped between them and grabbed hold. Strong, callused fingers twined unhesitatingly with his, and he was startled by how strong his sense of relief was. He'd still been half convinced that Flynn considered the feelings he'd confessed to a bother. He wasn't sure either if being loved was the same as being forgiven.

"Yuri...?"

"...Can't sleep," he muttered. "Damn, Flynn. You couldn't have waited until I came back?"

"If I could have, I'd have done so." His grip tightened. "I'll explain another time, if you don't understand."

"Worried that I might not make it back?"

Giving voice to that thought made him uneasy. He'd survived a lot on this journey, but he wasn't without his scars. Sensations crawled over him—the feel of a sword parting flesh and bone, the pain of a knife jabbed into his side, the cold weight of the ocean filling him up and dragging him down. He shuddered.

"I have faith in you," Flynn said quietly. The words seemed to bring a rush of warmth, goosebumps unconnected to the stuff of nightmares that lurked beneath Yuri's skin. "Keep in mind that I've fought against you enough to know what Duke will be up against. You've gotten so much stronger, Yuri. When I look at you now..."

Something in Flynn's voice made Yuri glad to be turned away. What sort of expression would go along with that tone? Strange to think he couldn't picture it. Stranger still to feel that he might not have been able to meet Flynn's eyes.

"You should get some rest," Flynn said.

"You're one to talk."

Flynn had been the one shifting and settling every few minutes, and now he was telling Yuri to go to sleep? He didn't need Flynn watching over him like that. They'd both have gotten a better night's sleep alone in their own beds. Despite that thought, he kept his fingers twined with Flynn's and didn't move to get up.

The bed creaked loudly and Yuri felt the mattress dip as Flynn raised himself up. He was quiet for a minute, then, hesitantly, he leaned over to kiss Yuri's hair just above his ear.

"Good night."

He was settling down again when Yuri twisted, turning his face toward him.

"Flynn..."

Yuri stopped, unsure. He couldn't pull Flynn to him without letting go of his hand, and he was unusually reluctant to do that. How was he supposed to ask for what he wanted? _Was_ he supposed to ask? Flynn had gone and changed things between them, leaving him uncertain and, now, a little annoyed. Since when was Flynn the one to make changes, anyway? Always before, he'd been the steady one. A moment before Yuri would have thrown caution to the wind and simply rolled over top of him, Flynn got the message.

That second kiss between them, their first actual kiss, was very soft and even more hesitant than the brief touch of lips to Yuri's hair had been. It was a delicate and gentle thing, so strange, so very strange that a thing like that could make Yuri ache the way it did. There was barely a sound when Flynn pulled back, and his eyes were wide in the pale starlight that filtered into the room. Yuri wondered what Flynn saw looking down on him.

"Good night," he said again, more softly, and laid himself back down.

Yuri let himself roll back to face the wall. He pressed his cheek into the pillow and breathed deep. The bed they shared was a temporary haven of peace and safety, and they drifted off together, fingers loosely intertwined between them.


	4. Sickbed

A/N: I'll post something more interesting, soon. It's in the midst of heavy revisions. In the meantime, more of this nonsense! =D

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

It was incredibly embarrassing for Imperial Knights to be herded back to their garrison like errant sheep, but that was the position Flynn found himself in toward the end of his patrol of the quiet town of Ceazontania. Yuri shuffled along next to him, trying to joke with the little old lady who had taken his arm as if she were the one being assisted through the streets. He was doing a poor job of maintaining his usual stream of friendly banter, and was likely more reliant on the woman to remain steady than she was on him. The flu that had spread through the town had hit him hard. Half the citizens had taken ill, and the Knights fared little better. Flynn was feeling a bit woozy, himself, but he still had enough presence of mind to be humiliated that he'd let the townsfolk talk him out of the last hour of his watch and escort him back to the barracks and his waiting bed. If Yuri hadn't seemed near ready to pass out, he wouldn't have given in.

They made it back without incident. Ceazontania was a sleepy town hardly in need of patrols, though that didn't excuse neglecting his duty. The old woman who had stayed with them the entire way reached up to pat Yuri on the head and wish him good night, then left them to explain their early return to Hisca.

Actually, only Flynn was left to explain. Yuri was so far gone with his fever that he would have been as good as useless had he not been so pitiable. As it was, Hisca merely sighed and, perhaps out of empathy born from nursing her sister through the flu, ordered them off to bed without a scolding.

For a moment, Yuri hesitated there at the entrance but, once he realized that he was being left alone, he hurried unsteadily after Flynn. Over-warm and weary from his own body's battle with the illness, Flynn didn't relish the thought of having to deal with Yuri. He wasn't needy in terms of being waited on, but Yuri didn't exactly handle being sick very well.

Back in their shared room, Flynn soaked a cloth in the cool water of the basin that he'd left sitting on top of the table. He wiped the fever-sweat from his face and neck, savoring the coolness that helped to focus his muddled thoughts. His vision had seemed to waver a little in the torchlit courtyard and, much as he had resented the interruption of his duties and the thought that he was now contributing to how short-handed the Knights were, he welcomed the idea of getting a little extra rest to help fight off the flu.

Yuri had dropped to sit on the edge of his bed. He wasn't _quite_ staring at Flynn. His eyes were glassy and not focused, his head tilted oddly to one side. With a sigh, Flynn soaked the cloth again and wrung it out. He tossed it at Yuri, watching the way his friend swayed a little with the soft impact and gazed blankly down at the cloth clinging to his uniform.

"Clean up a bit and get changed," Flynn ordered him.

Though his thoughts might wander in the grip of a bad fever, Yuri was stubborn about taking care of himself when he was sick. He'd do everything he could on his own, right up until he was too weak to move. Thankfully, he had only been that ill a couple of times. Slowly, carefully, he picked up the cloth and scrubbed his face. Flynn saw him shiver, then turned away to change.

It took Yuri much longer than usual to finish with the cloth, change into his nightshirt, and turn out the lamp. By then, Flynn was already curled tightly into his sheets and facing away. He hoped his posture and greedy clutching of the blankets would discourage what he knew was coming. When he heard Yuri pad to his bedside, he kept still and quiet...right up until he felt the tug on his blankets.

"Go to bed," he groaned.

"I'm cold."

"So lay down under your own covers until you warm up."

The tugging got stronger. Yuri found the edge of the sheet and pulled it up as he started to climb into bed behind him. Scowling and in no mood to deal with the intrusion, Flynn rolled over. He tried to yank his blankets free and shove Yuri back at the same time.

"You aren't a child! Go lay down in your own bed and go to sleep!"

The difference in their strength was enough that he was able to knock Yuri off balance. He watched him stagger a few steps backward, then drop down onto his mattress as it came up against the backs of his legs. Yuri stared at him almost uncomprehending. He shuddered and curled in on himself. A frown tugged vaguely at the corners of his mouth.

"I can't get warm on my own."

"It's in your head," Flynn muttered. Once more, he pulled his blankets close around him and settled down with his back to Yuri. "It's just the flu. You'll get over it."

Quiet settled over the room as Flynn listened for Yuri's next move. He always got like that when he was sick. His dislike of cold turned into complete intolerance, and he became remarkably clingy. He'd been that way ever since they were kids.

No. Wait. That wasn't quite right. Yuri had caught colds often enough when he was younger and not as capable of fending for himself. He'd gotten over them with the same stubbornness with which he overcame any obstacle. He used to bundle himself up to trap heat and ward off the shivers that originated inside where the sickness lurked. He had always refused help and cared for himself, even back then. He hadn't gotten so needy for company until after the flu that had nearly killed him.

Flynn only remembered that time in fragments. Hanks had come knocking at his mother's door one night. He'd needed money for a doctor. Flynn hadn't paid it much attention until he'd heard Yuri's name come up, but that had made it his business. He remembered his questions being turned aside, and he remembered not being allowed to go see Yuri. He'd gone anyway, of course, snuck in one day when Hanks had gone out. It had been the first time he'd seen Yuri too weak to help himself, too weak to even wake up. He remembered being scared.

Later on, he'd heard that Yuri had nearly died. It had taken him a long time to get better, and after that he'd had a particular hatred for being sick. It was a hatred that bordered on fear, and he'd never again been able to tolerate being left alone when he came down with a cold or fever. When he wasn't ill, himself, Flynn had sympathy for him. Not so, when his reserves had been drained by the same flu that had so weakened his friend's usual stoicism.

He'd expected Yuri to try climbing into bed with him again. He was almost tired enough to allow it, but still irritated enough to want to deny him. The heavy scrape of wood on wood startled him, and he looked back over his shoulder to see Yuri trying to push his own bed across the few feet that separated it from Flynn's. Rolling his eyes, he curled back up.

"What are you doing?"

Yuri didn't answer. His bed lurched forward in uneven bursts, and Flynn could tell the effort was costing him from the way he paused and panted in-between. As he listened, he felt a sudden stirring of guilt and was immediately angry with himself over it. Why should he feel guilty over the fact that Yuri couldn't help acting like an idiot?

At last, his bed rocked under him as Yuri's bumped against it. He heard a gasp and a thud. Yuri's breathing was harsh. It hitched in his throat. Flynn could feel tremors running through the bed, and he peered curiously over his shoulder once more.

Yuri was visible as nothing more than a pale arm and a spill of black hair over the edge of the mattress. He seemed to have collapsed to the floor, and he wasn't making any move to pick himself up. Reluctantly, Flynn slipped out of bed and went to him.

Sitting in a miserable heap on the floor, Yuri was visibly trembling. He kept taking great gulps of air, but it didn't seem to be helping all that much. He didn't even try to look up as Flynn knelt beside him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll sleep in my own bed," he mumbled. "Don't want to be alone."

When he reached out, his hand shook so badly that Flynn took it without thinking. Yuri's fingers closed around his, feebly, but he got the sense that it was all the strength his friend had left. He felt a sharp tug in his chest, and rested his fevered brow briefly against Yuri's head.

"All right. Get up."

Yuri wouldn't have been able to manage it on his own. His legs wobbled beneath him like a marionette's, but Flynn helped him climb into bed. Yuri rolled onto his side right away, reaching out until his hand just barely rested on Flynn's mattress, waiting for him to go back to his own bed and take up that connection between them. Flynn had no such intention.

"Move over a little more," he ordered.

There was a question in the noise Yuri made, but no words. Flynn shoved him out of the way, crawling into bed next to him and pulling the covers up over both of them. Immediately, Yuri curled into him, grabbing hold of his nightshirt, and pressing his forehead against Flynn's breastbone. Sweat dampened his hair, and his breath was a shuddering exhalation of humid warmth. Too tired at that point to be annoyed with himself over giving in, Flynn lifted a heavy arm and stroked Yuri's hair back from where it clung to his face and neck. He kept watch as Yuri's shivers slowly eased, then followed after him to sleep.


	5. Sun Through a Skylight

A/N: Flynn's room in Aurnion looks like a warm and cozy place for a nap.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Over the course of five years, Aurnion had blossomed from a rough little haven of a village into a thriving city. To Flynn, it seemed to combine the friendly bustle of the lower quarter with the charm of Halure. The original palisades had been dug up years ago to allow the city to expand, but the shape of the settlement in its early days could still be seen in the curve of a tree-lined lane. He walked along through shade and sun beneath the branches, watching the people passing by, watching _for_ one person in particular.

It was past noon on the second day of a three day festival to mark the town's founding, and the streets were lively despite the revelry that had continued through the previous night and into the wee hours of the morning. The city was garlanded and festooned with sweet-smelling blossoms and bright streamers. Strings of paper lanterns, their candles burned out hours ago, hung between buildings and trees, over streets and around squares, waiting to be lit once more when dusk returned. The table from Flynn's room had been appropriated and set up with the others before the city's monument where they'd been heaped with platters of cold meat, cheese, fresh breads sweetened with fruit or flavored with nuts and spices, fruits, pies both sweet and savory, and delicate little cakes dusted with sugar. Casks of mead and cider sat by to quench the crowd's thirst, and wine would be provided that night when the bonfires were built up again and the musicians began playing for the dancing crowds.

Away from the feast tables, artisans had turned the streets into patchworks where they had set out blankets and sat down to sell pottery, jewelry, woodcarvings, and a thousand other things. Musicians and puppeteers played on street corners, encouraged as much by the air of merriment and the applause as the jingle of the gald they collected. Aurnion's population had swollen with the influx of family, tourists, old residents and new that had come pouring in for the celebration. Flynn slipped through the crowds, a smile on his face as he searched for Yuri.

They had both been up late last night, catching up as they enjoyed the festival. Yuri had procured them a bottle of wine, and they'd retreated to the room Flynn was staying in, the same one he'd used five years ago when he'd watched the heroes who would defeat Duke and the Adephagos depart from that very city. He could remember, when he thought about it, a fearful concern that had made it terribly difficult to watch Yuri go. For the most part, however, Aurnion was a place of warm memories for him. It was a place of true peace between the empire and the guilds. It was where Yuri had returned to him after being all but given up for dead. The very room they'd shared last night had been the one in which he had first spoken of his feelings to Yuri five years ago and been accepted. They had shared their first kiss in that room and, even now, the thought of it made Flynn cover a smile with his hand, fingers hovering over a tickle of memory only barely softer than that first, warm touch of lips. For him, Aurnion was a city of hopes fulfilled. Estellise had named it 'The Light that Melts Away the Snow.' She couldn't have chosen better.

Even after their late night, Yuri had slipped out of bed at the first stirrings in the town outside the door. He'd never been able to resist a festival, and he'd left Flynn his fading warmth between the sheets as he'd dressed hurriedly and strolled out. When Flynn had finally risen an hour or so later, he'd noticed with a smile that Yuri had left his sword leaning against the wall. There had been a time when he had never been without a blade. It was a comfort to know that something in him had eased enough to let him go without.

Flynn spent just long enough at the laden tables to grab a quick bit of cold breakfast. His growling stomach assuaged, he wound his way past individuals and groups, exploring the festival and the goods on offer. He passed a few hours that way, talking with craftsmen and townsfolk, following up on the conduct of the brigade that aided in protecting the town, and listening to stories of how Aurnion had grown. Eventually, he realized that he hadn't seen Yuri since that morning, and began looking for signs of him.

The crowds had only gotten thicker as the sun passed its peak, and it became far easier to move along the very edge of the street. A thin path between the crowd and the people sitting on the grass below the trees along the lane had been left courteously clear through no apparent spoken agreement. Flynn walked along slowly, watching for a glimpse of Yuri, listening to catch his voice over the commotion. He owed Yuri a duel before they left the city behind again that year. It had become a tradition for them.

He was almost past the open square when something hit him in the back of the head. He spun, training taking over where instinct had failed him. Like Yuri, he'd left his sword in the room, but he was only thrown by its absence for a moment, and, in remembering, he straightened and couldn't help but smile at his overreaction. The world had been mostly peaceful for five years. Whatever had hit him must have been an accident. It certainly hadn't been an attack.

Another small projectile glanced off his shoulder. He saw it this time as it rolled away, a small, green apple from one of the trees he walked under. He looked up, searching for precisely where it had come from, and found Yuri perched where branch met trunk, watching him with a wicked grin.

One more apple was sent flying Flynn's way, then Yuri stuck out his tongue, leapt lightly to the ground on the other side of the trees, and took off in a dash. His head start lengthened as Flynn had to excuse himself and pick carefully around the people picnicking in the dappled shade before he could follow.

Yuri let out an exuberant shout as he dodged around the scattered people in his path, and Flynn couldn't help but laugh in response. He watched Yuri catch up a young girl in his arms, swing her around as if in a dance, and then spin her, handing her off to Flynn and darting away once more. He steadied the girl, fumbling a hurried and grinning plea that she excuse him and his impetuous friend, then left her giggling with her friends after barely a pause in his chase.

Other people weren't the only obstacles, and Yuri's course was sending him straight toward the food. Aiming right at the tables, Yuri planted a hand and leapt easily over the full platters and baskets, as graceful a creature as Flynn had ever seen. On the other side, he paused just long enough to toss a grin over his shoulder and snatch up a cake before he was off again. Called by that grin and encouraged by the joy riding the air, Flynn put on a burst of speed and lunged forward, sliding beneath the table. He came out with a roll and was on his feet without a thought.

Laughter trailed Yuri as surely as the banner of his hair, but his lead was diminishing. Flynn barreled into him at the door to his room, catching Yuri up in his arms. He saw Yuri's hand upon the doorknob, felt the wood swing inward away from his shoulder, and then they were toppling forward, too wrapped up in each other and in the laughter that shook them to feel the impact as they fell to the floor.

Briefly, Yuri fought with him, trying to draw him into a wrestling match now that their race had reached an end. He gave it up easily enough as Flynn rolled onto his back, hauling Yuri over top of him and pulling him close for a kiss. Yuri's mouth was honey-sweet from the mead, and laced with the sharpness of the tiny apples he'd been snacking on. Flynn could just barely reach the door with his outstretched foot, and he gave it a kick, satisfied to hear it click shut.

The kisses they shared weren't enough to hold back the bubbling spring of laughter. They kissed haphazardly between bursts of mirth, brushing each others' cheeks and brows as often with soft exhalations as with lips. Yuri laughed against Flynn's neck, teeth scraping his skin but lacking the pinch of his love bites. He rocked their bodies together and huffed another muffled laugh as Flynn's fingers grazed his sides. When he glanced up and their eyes met, he fell once more to laughing, and Flynn with him so that he hadn't the strength to hold Yuri to him as he rolled to the side.

When calm found them after long minutes of dwindling laughter, Flynn levered himself up onto an elbow and studied Yuri. He was sprawled on the floor, framed in a thick, buttery yellow fall of afternoon sunlight from the skylights. His clothes were rumpled and pulled askew, his hair spread across the honey-colored floorboards. His eyes were closed, but a smile still brightened his face, and he drew deep, satisfied breaths that seemed to carry with them the peace of the suddenly quiet room.

The moments spun out around them, mingling the brightness of the sun-drenched room with the heat of the chase and the warmth of their closeness. A thought was all it took for Flynn to roll onto his side and be able to rest an arm over Yuri. The sunlight poured its warm weight over his skin. He felt the rise and fall of Yuri's breath, the faint beating of his calming heart. The wood beneath him was worn smooth and warmed by sunlight. Yuri smelled of honey and apples and fresh bread, sweat and dust. Flynn kissed his cheek and heard a soft laugh in response.

Time crawled by as the heat of the sun and the sweetness of the moment infused them, left Flynn drowsy and content. He stretched out to stroke Yuri's shoulder, feeling the movements of his hand as slow and smooth as pouring honey. He wasn't sure how long they lay there before he spoke.

"We shouldn't fall asleep on the floor."

"I've slept in worse beds." His voice was low and sleepy, softened with the smile that still bowed his lips. "Here." Bidding Flynn to lift his head, Yuri slipped his arm beneath it. "Now you've got a pillow." He settled in a little closer, stroking lazily over the top of Flynn's arm where the sun kissed his skin. "Better than a blanket."

"We'll be stiff when we wake up." He kissed Yuri's temple, and grinned at the snickers that met that remark.

"We can take care of that when it happens."

The feeling of completeness that had settled over him added wisdom to those words. Flynn sighed and settled in for a nap.


End file.
